JAMES MADISON, to my knowledge, never played tackle football. I
doubt he would have made the JV squad: a slim 5'4", he lacked the
taurine figure necessary even for a kicker on any self-respecting
team (although his fellow convention delegate Gouverneur
Morris—pre-1780—may well have been a first-round pick). Like many a
specimen of unremarkable physical character and delicate health,
Madison tended toward scholarly pursuits, distinguishing himself in
studies of the classics and law (only a merciful two centuries’ gap
saved him from relegation to the “nerd” caste). Under the guidance
of his razor-sharp intellect, both the Constitution and the Bill of
Rights were created.
It was in defense of the former during its ratification process
that Madison co-wrote The Federalist Papers, from which
has since been etched onto the stone tablets of American liberty:
“There are two methods of curing the mischiefs of faction: the one,
by removing its causes; the other, by controlling its effects.”
Why Madison’s words on the viability of a constitutional
republic mean anything to the contact sport so beloved by modern
Americans might seem somewhat unclear. Yet to my mind, these words
spell out exactly the approaches one can take. How best can we cure
the mischiefs of tackle football: by removing it altogether, or by
controlling its effects?
No one will deny that football is more than a little savage. In
fact, it’s downright primal: Men pursue a glorified animal hide,
ramming each other with all the wild fury of bighorn sheep
defending their demesnes. Injuries are both disturbingly
commonplace and very often irreparable. A star player’s career can
end in the span of 20 seconds, while unfazed spectators, eager for
the game to continue, watch him hobble from the field of battle. In
this way, the sport is not unlike the gladiatorial contests that so
entertained the ancient Romans. Indeed, this resemblance has been
cited by many a critic. Such games, these critics claim, with their
emphasis on deadly combat, may have entertained the Romans of past
millennia, but we are a civilized nation, whose people have evolved
far beyond such vulgar appeals.
This argument, however, is completely without basis either in
history or in human nature. That men 2,000 years before our time
enjoyed watching highly trained slaves dressed like fishermen and
Gauls stab and hack each other to death with tridents and daggers
is merely a colorful anecdote in the history of human
entertainment; that men today enjoy watching a variation on the
same theater—take away the weapons and the popular vote on the
outcome—speaks volumes about the unchanging nature of mankind. The
Romans did not invent tackle football, or surely fanatical Commodus
would have leapt into the arena to chase the pigskin himself and
invented his own end zone dance. Nevertheless, they happened upon a
formula of entertainment which succeeded far beyond the needs of
panem et circenses. Some element of the sport touched upon
an indelible facet of the human consciousness. The idea of men
pummeling each other after some mutually desired prize—whether the
glory and freedom of the ancient gladiator or the fame and fortune
of a (however brief) professional football career—compels us to
watch.
Far be it from this humble writer to determine the reason for
this phenomenon; the evidence is justification enough. The whole of
civilization has sought such entertainment: wrestling men appear
among the cyclopean figures of Egyptian friezes, crowds in Georgian
Britain cheered on both men and women in organized fights at
village fairs. If tackle football were banned, my presumption is
that people would find, invent, or modify another sport along
similar lines. When the human mind wants to be entertained in a
certain way, it will be entertained—attempts to control it
notwithstanding.
ON A RELATED LINE OF ARGUMENT, some may call for the elimination
of college football because the institution is corrupt. Schools
seek the most promising of high school talent, luring these players
with scholarships unavailable to non-sporting students; prospective
players, seeing perhaps their only shot at the fame and fortune of
a national league career, nominally enroll but focus entirely on
their sport. (What prospective player wouldn’t, when professional
contracts run into the tens of millions?) A winning team draws
alumni donations, which starts the cycle all over again. The
schools seem to place undue focus on sport, undermining
academics.
Yet I would challenge anyone to name an institution of
entertainment in human history that has remained untouched by
lucre. In the glory days of Rome, when the Circus Maximus was a
thriving racetrack (and not just a strip of grass surrounded by a
hard- packed oval of dirt, as it is today), citizens bet huge sums
on the Reds, Greens, Blues, and Whites. The citizens of Rome surely
enjoyed watching the quadrigae speed around the track, yet
no evidence of this would have survived had not betting on the
outcomes of races been as popular as the races themselves.
Money is indelibly tied to any remotely popular entertainment;
betting allows the spectator to participate in the risk of
high-contact sports without injuring himself. Men do not enter into
cycles of what may be called “corruption” simply because the object
of interest is corrupt; excitement and the prospect of financial
gain draw investors to the sport. If a college subordinates
academics to football—at least financially—it does so to enhance
its own glory. An alumnus likes to mention his alma mater
with pride, and donates so that he can continue to do so. That
tackle football has become entangled in a Gordian knot with
financial investment is a symptom of its popularity, not its
corruption. To abolish it altogether would be an act both damnable
in its extinguishing of liberties and futile in its naïve belief
that men will not seek substitute entertainment.
So tackle football is here to stay, and though its critics may
gasp in apoplectic shock when I say it, this is good news for
American liberty. Athletics has advanced from slaughter for fame
and glory to ritual battle for fame and glory. If football never
evolved past this point, society could well call the game a
successful example of progress. Of course, we could go further to
control the effects of tackle football’s apparent mischief: Alumni
could take a stand against donations to schools’ football programs,
students could choose to attend schools with no football programs
at all, and spectators could switch their attention to another
sport. But one could also argue that tackle football is a
celebration of freedom wrapped in a troglodytic sport.
If young players undertake a sport that brings so much danger
and such fleeting fame, they have engaged their liberties as much
as any child of the First Amendment. If schools want to invest
money in tackle football over academics, they are supporting a
sport that harms no one intentionally and brings entertainment to
millions of citizens. If these same citizens wish to sit in
freezing weather and cheer until their voices are hoarse for a form
of play combat as old as the Seven Hills of Rome, they ought to be
applauded for exercising their freedom of choice.
James Madison may never have made it to the frozen tundra of
Lambeau Field, may never have executed a perfect spiral pass, and
may never have watched the ball sail gracefully between the
colossal golden sentinels for a perfect field goal. But were
someone to tell him about modern American football, I have no doubt
that he would nod his wholehearted approval.
